The Dictates of Fashion
by montyburns
Summary: What happened to the Klingons' forehead ridges? Read on to find out...
1. Disclaimer

Standard Legal Disclaimer

Standard Legal Disclaimer and Foreword

The Star Trek universe is, of course, the creation of Gene Roddenberry and the rights to it (as we all know) are owned by Paramount. 

The characters presented here are my creations. Any similarity to living, dead, real and/or fictional people is unintended and coincidental. 

The stories presented here are works of my imagination and similarity to other works is also coincidental. All stories are posted on-line strictly for the enjoyment of myself, as well as anyone else who cares to read them. 

For those who wish to archive or distribute this story, please contact me and ask first. Thank-you. 

Special thanks goes to my beta readers for doing an excellent job on correcting my grammar mistakes which were committed in "Infinite Diversity and Infinite Combinations." Any remaining errors, of course, are mine alone. 


	2. The Dictates of Fashion

"The Dictates of Fashion" ****

"The Dictates of Fashion"

"Dabo!"

The crowd in Quark's bar erupted into a living maelstrom of noise and delirium as the bar's most regular patron, Morn, celebrated his sudden good fortune of winning triple dabo. Slips of gold-pressed latinum and drinks flowed freely in equal measure as the bar's Ferengi proprietor, peevishly paid out the winnings while trying to make the money back on overpriced drinks all at the same time. 

From his vantage point seated at a table high above the gambling floor, Worf looked on the scene below with undisguised satisfaction. "That is the third time Morn has won today," he observed. "Perhaps if we are fortunate, he will drive the Ferengi parasite out of business."

His fiancee and soon to be wife, Jadzia Dax, peered up blearily from her nearly empty cup of Klingon bloodwine. "You shhuudn't be sho hard on him, Wurf," she slurred. "Beshides, I think hesh kinda…"

Worf glowered at his lover. "Do not even say it," he warned. 

General Martok poured Jadzia another glass of bloodwine and broke out in the kind of roaring laugh that only a Klingon could manage. "Worf!" he boomed. "You should not be so negative only a week before your wedding! Drink! We have much to celebrate!"

"I believe Jadzia has had enough," Worf scowled. 

Jadzia blinked, trying to focus on Worf as she clinked glasses with Martok and then proceeded to swallow another gulp of the potent bloodwine. "Hesh right, Worf," she began, "try to be happy for oneshh….itsh been a while sinsh we had anything to shelebrate."

Drunk or not, Jadzia and Martok had a point. Only days ago, Starfleet had been successful in taking Deep Space Nine back from Dominion occupation. In a war that had seen most everything go wrong for the Federation in its opening months, the liberation of DS9 was a rare and precious victory, worthy of celebration with a good bottle of bloodwine. 

And soon, they would be married. An even better reason to celebrate with a bottle of bloodwine. 

Worf, however, did not feel much like celebrating. Folding his arms, he replied, "Maybe later."

Jadzia waved her hand at him dismissively and laughed. Turning her attention back to the general, she motioned for him to come closer. Leaning in towards Martok, she gave the general that mischievous, conspiratorial smile she was so well known for and which had won Worf's heart. 

"Lemme ashk you shomething," she mumbled in Martok's direction. 

Martok gave her his predatory Klingon grin in return and asked, "What?"

She hiccuped. "I'm really curiosh about shomething," she rambled. 

"Then ask me, and I will try to answer," Martok promised. Glancing at Worf, he gave her another wicked grin and added, "But if you are asking me about Klingon mating traditions on one's wedding night then I must decline to answer!"

She giggled uncontrollably for a few moments while Worf smoldered silently. "No, no! Not _that_!. Beshides, I probably know more than you do…" she began.

"Ha!" Martok interrupted, pounding the table violently and slugging back more wine. "I think not!" he roared.

Her eyes glinting, she retorted, "Oh, I think sho…but thatsh not what I wush talking about." Pausing for a moment, confused, she asked, "What wush I talking about, anyway?"

"You wanted to ask him something," Worf answered curtly, barely sipping his bloodwine. 

She giggled again. "Oh, right, now I remember…Martok, I want to know shomething about Klingons that they never told Cur..Curshon."

"What is it?" Martok asked, pouring everyone, including Worf, more wine. 

"The shmooth heads," she replied.

Martok cocked his head, not understanding the question. "What?"

"The shmooth heads," she repeated. "A censhury ago, lotsh of Klingons had shmooth heads – you know, no ridgeshes or bumpies," she giggled. "How come you guysh had shmooth heads?"

Worf sat up uncomfortably and broke into the conversation. "That is a complicated story, Jadzia," he said, "and we do not share it with outsiders."

She pounded on his army drunkenly. "Outshiders?" she asked with artificial outrage. "I'm shoon to be yer wife, Worf and a member of the housh of Martok…sho don't shay I'm an…an…outshider!"

Martok, suddenly serious, pondered the request. "I suppose you have a right to know," he replied at length.

"You cannot be serious!" Worf protested, a look of utter shock on his face. 

"Worf, we cannot keep this a secret from her forever," Martok pointed out. "Besides, secrets are very bad for a marriage. She should learn the truth," he said. 

Worf folded his arms in disapproval. "Very well," he said. "But you must promise to keep it a secret, Jadzia."

She nodded loopily. "I shwear I will never tell anyone," she promised.

Martok glanced around, verifying that no one was listening in on the conversation. "Very well," he began, his voice lowered to a low growl. "If you wish to know the truth, then listen carefully, Jadzia Dax. I will only repeat this tale once."

Silently, she nodded, swaying in her chair as she did so. 

Martok licked his lips and stared off, as if peering back through the mists of time. "It all began with the _Enterprise_," he started. 

"The _Enterprish?_" she asked loudly. "You mean Captain Kirksh ship?"

"Jadzia," Worf cautioned, "do not speak so loudly." Swiveling his head back and forth, he scanned the room quickly to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

She held up her hands defensively. "Shorry, shorry," she muttered. "Go on," she promoted Martok.

Martok shook his head. "No, not that _Enterprise_. The first one. The one that made first contact between Earth and Q'no'oS. Under the command of Captain Jonathan Archer."

Dax smiled dreamily. "Jack Archer…ummm…" then suddenly broke off her contemplation as she caught a disapproving frown from Worf. 

Martok continued, "At the time, the Klingon Empire was fighting an enemy known as…."

"The Shoooliban," Dax interrupted. "I know my hishtory, Martok. But what does that have to do with the shmooth heads?"

"I am trying to explain that," Martok replied, irritated. "Now, you must remember that Captain Archer was the first human we Klingons had ever met. Many Klingons were deeply impressed by Captain Archer and his crew. They had proven themselves courageous and skilled in battle with the Suliban. The tale left a deep impression on many Klingons."

"It was assumed all humans would be like Captain Archer," Worf added, almost apologetically. 

"Sho a lot of Klingons were impresshed," Dax replied. "Sho what? Why the shmooth heads?" she asked again.

Martok shifted uncomfortably, as if embarrassed. "I am getting to that," he replied. "About six years after the first contact incident, was broke out between Earth and Romulus."

"The Romulan warsh," Dax added unnecessarily. 

"Yes," Martok confirmed. "At the time, the Romulans were considered dangerous adversaries, a powerful and ruthless band of thugs who were a force to be reckoned with. We had fought them for many years. And the Vulcans had fought a long war against them that lasted almost a century. They were considered by the High Council to be one of the single greatest threats to the Klingon Empire.

"Then they went to war with Earth. And in less than four years, Earth had utterly destroyed the Romulan war machine, putting an end to more than a century of Romulan aggression in space. It was…an epic achievement. Many Klingons looked to the humans and saw a race of warriors, one worthy of emulation in every way."

"Some Klingons began to imitate human behavior," Worf broke in, continuing the tale. "Cola drinks" – Worf forced out the phrase with undisguised distaste – "became popular. _Blue jeans_ were worn by Klingon youth. Shakespeare was studied in the place of traditional Klingon literature in the universities.

"Even after war broke out with the humans, our people's fascination with them continued. It was…a very odd relationship."

Dax swerved in her seat, obviously having trouble maintaining her balance. "But why the shmooth headsh?" she asked again, impatiently. 

Martok paused and then continued, obviously uncomfortable. "Later, in the mid-23rd century, cosmetic surgery techniques became widely available on Qo'no'S."

"From Earth," Worf growled. 

"Yes, yes, the knowledge came from Earth," Martok agreed. "It became…popular amongst my people to alter one's appearance. To look more human," he finished lamely. 

Dax said nothing for a moment, gaping through the wine-soaked haze at the two Klingon men in disbelief. Then, she began laughing, a quiet giggle at first that slowly built into an uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. For more than five minutes, Dax laughed harder and harder, pounding the table, her eyes watering, gasping for air. Finally, gaining control of herself, she managed to contain her outburst to a controlled giggle as she regarded Worf and Martok seriously…

And then began laughing uncontrollably again. Falling over off of her chair, she staggered to her feet and plopped back down unsteadily, gasping and choking for air as she did. Wiping away the tears from her eyes, she gulped down a breath of air and then asked, "You…mean...to tell me…it was….a…_fad?"_

"A fad," Worf admitted uncomfortably. 

"A fad," Martok muttered. 

Dax giggled again, visibly trying to contain herself. "And when you Klingonsh realishied humanity washn't a warrior culture at all…"

Martok scowled. "Imagine our disappointment."

In her mind's eye, Jadzia pictured a group of scowling Klingon warriors, all business and serious, falling victim to a fashion craze that made them want to modify their appearances. Finding the whole thing genuinely hilarious, she hooted and grinned as she asked, "Sho…I'll bet they don't look at their old yearbooksh…much any more!"

She had meant it as a joke, but Martok apparently took it very seriously. "When they came to their senses and realized how _ridiculous_ they looked, it soon was no longer fashionable amongst my people to appear as human. Those who had undergone the procedure had it reversed, and then destroyed any evidence they had ever changed their physical appearance."

"The Great Burning," Worf remembered. 

Martok nodded. "Afterwards, when my people had come to their senses, even to speak of this dark time in our cultural history was reason for exile from Qu'noS – or worse. Our people lost their way. We do not care to be reminded of it."  


"Well," Dax slurred, trying to stand up, "I think itsh funny…but now, I just want to go to shleep…" without warning, her eyes rolled back in her head as she collapsed onto the floor with a thud. Passed out, she snored loudly, oblivious to the world around her or the crowds of people stepping over her on her way to somewhere else. 

Martok looked at Worf nonchalantly. "More wine?"

Worf held his cup out. "Please."

*^^^^^*

The next morning, Jadzia Dax lay on her bed with Worf, her head pounding like a thousand photon torpedoes were all going off at once inside it. She groaned at even the slightest noise, the merest motion making her ill.

"I should know better than to drink too much bloodwine," she moaned. 

"Yes, you should," Worf agreed, his voice devoid of pity.

Jadzia groaned again and held her pillow over her head, trying to make the pounding stop. "The whole night is a blur. I don't remember anything after we got to Quark's. Except…I was talking to Martok about something, but I can't remember what. Do you?" she asked.

Worf hesitated for a beat, then replied evenly, "It wasn't important."

END


End file.
